


That Night

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The poetry of first times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Night

Ziya Surana’s skin was unblemished Orlesian silk, smooth and fine and dark. No scars marred the flat plain of his back, from the even ridge of his spine, to the gentle dip above the sloping curve of his backside. That skin, soft and warm under calloused fingertips, demanded the silver tongue of a confident bard, not the wavering half mumbles tumbling from the mouth of an unsure warrior.

Ziya’s arms were folded under his head, under the rolled up fur normally used to keep off the bitter chill of Fereldan nights. A sublime relaxation possessed him, fueled by the aching pleasure in every squeezing grasp and firmly pressured stroke Alistair made on his shoulders.

"I do like a man with strong hands and the stamina to use them," Ziya said in a tone that was flirtatious and molasses-sweet, and fit him as well as his golden brown skin. “You can just keep doing that all night, can’t you?"

"If that’s what you desire," Alistair responded, regretting his words each time they escaped. Desire, that complex and hungry beast, gnawed, insatiable, at the swarm of unseasonable butterflies that took residence in Alistair’s gut. He knew want now, like he knew thirst and need of rest. It slithered down when he swallowed, following the long, well-traveled roads of his veins to bloom hot and hard between his legs. A sickly sweet ache burrowed there when he found Ziya naked in his tent, waiting for him.

"I desire a great many things," Ziya said, as if he were revealing a great truth, sounding drunk from the depth of contentment. “For example, right now, I have a great desire for you to kiss me."

Alistair gave him no answer except to crawl over Ziya’s body to lie beside him. He held a breath deep in his lungs when Ziya’s arm snaked around his neck, his soft skin an unbearable distraction when it brushed Alistair’s bare shoulders. Then his lips, ever sweet and never nibbled, found his mouth and pressed, slid, and eased Alistair’s apart. One flick of his tongue and fire ignited in his belly, blooming out through his veins, throbbing hard and hot in his cock. Dizzy, he swam in the sensation of wet lips and hot breath, of Ziya’s tongue, still tasting strongly of cloying wine, inside of his mouth.

With one hand on his shoulder, Ziya urged him onto his back, an order he was inclined to obey. He was rewarded by the hot pressure of Ziya’s thighs on either side of his hips, and by the shameless confidence in Ziya’s straight spine, in his blood-flushed cock purple-dark in the dim light, jutting up from the v formed by his iliac furrow. Alistair stared, lips parted, the word beautiful hovering around his tongue. Ziya sat on him as he lifted his arms to untie the leather cord that held his braid. Slowly he freed his hair, combing it out with his fingers, shaking out the long, loose curls.

"Like what you see?" Ziya asked, still playing with his ink-black hair, smiling when Alistair nodded, swallowing. “What do you think?"

"I think you’re beautiful. I—should I have said handsome?" Alistair asked, his breath shuddering, cheeks crimson.

"I like that you think I’m beautiful." Ziya bent at his waist, resting his hands lightly on Alistair’s firm chest. “Nobody’s ever told me that before." Still resting his perfect ripe peach ass dangerously close to Alistair’s throbbing cock, Ziya leaned forward enough to catch Alistair’s lips again. He kissed him long, hard, full of tongue and throaty murmurs, and he left behind wet lips and erratic gasping when he sat up.

Alistair said his name like an oath. He lifted his hands when Ziya took them by the wrist, letting him guide them up his thighs to rest on his hips.

"Touch me," Ziya said firmly, and released his wrists.

Wit died on Alistair’s tongue, so he nodded slightly, and dragged trembling fingers over his silky stomach. He lightly touched his protruding belly button—an oddity, though not one that ruined the pretty picture of his dark skin and black hair, of his bright blue eyes flashing yellow-green when they caught the light. He circled his belly button with one finger, stopping at the bottom to slowly trail it down to the patch of black hair from which his cock protruded.

Both desire and uncertainty made him hesitate. The former for its startling power, the latter for its suggestions of incompetence. The doubt, and remembering stories of Ziya’s previous lovers, froze him just above his destination.

“It doesn’t bite,” Ziya teased, and despite himself, Alistair laughed.

“I certainly wasn’t afraid of that.”

Guided by Ziya’s hand over his, Alistair loosely wrapped his fingers around his cock. His expectations had buried him in such unreasonable nervous confusion that the sensation of hot skin under his hand would have been a letdown were it not so reassuring. Ziya made a throaty noise and leaned back, bracing his arms on Alistair’s thighs.

“Don’t flatter me.” Alistair offered him a weak smile. “I still have no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s not so much what you’re doing, but that it’s you doing it.” Ziya said without sarcasm. He opened his eyes long enough to lift one hand, twisting long fingers as he cast a small spell. The tent lit up like daylight, a small ball of warm, pure light hovering at the top. “All I want is for you to see me and touch me,” Ziya said.

His eyes now adjusted to the light, Alistair sat up, slinking an arm around Ziya’s waist to bright their chests together. “I will do more than that,” he whispered, nuzzling close to his ear, burying his nose in hair that smelled of lavender oils and sage. “I love you,” he said, losing confidence immediately at pounding of blood in his ears. “I never thought that I, that this—”

The light press of Ziya’s lips silenced him, and the soft whisper of accordance and admiration filled him, yet carved out more space for hunger to expand. A wicked smile crossed Ziya’s wide mouth, and that hunger escaped, filling the tent and the space between their bodies until Alistair removed it, crushing them close, Orlesian silk against Fereldan wool, big hands laced with Ziya’s delicate fingers, and the decadence of the slickness and the friction and the sweat of another body dampening his skin.

They did nothing that night that would scandalize any of their companions, settling instead into a slow rhythm of rocking against one another, kissing until lips were swollen and stung, spending on flat stomachs with soft laughter and encouraging whispers while an overabundance of light filled half-lidded, sensation-hazed eyes.


End file.
